


The Greyhound

by Ardatli



Series: The Dale Cycle [6]
Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Crusades!AU, Heather Dale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 13:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4566162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardatli/pseuds/Ardatli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Curse the Reaper cowled in black, he’s laughing at your failing;</i><br/>Pull that oar until it cracks, we’re bound for better sailing.<br/>So put your back into it lads, and haul against the thunder.<br/>Curse the Reaper, bend your back and cheat your sorry grave.
</p>
<p>Or, the one where Billy and Tommy are pilgrims, Teddy is a crusader, and sailing sucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Greyhound

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on The Greyhound, by Canadian folk singer Heather Dale. 
> 
> https://youtu.be/aQFHSJQHbNM?list=PL2kdjR4vw6B9Y7nDiAUmCs1lEAzQumVKr

_Curse the Reaper cowled in black, he’s laughing at your failing;_

_Pull that oar until it cracks, we’re bound for better sailing._

_So put your back into it lads, and haul against the thunder._

_Curse the Reaper, bend your back and cheat your sorry grave!_

 

**The Mediterranean Sea, between Zara and Chalcedon**

If it was difficult for William to spend the winter at Zara, with nothing to look at across the harbour but the shattered walls of the once-proud city, how much worse must it have been for Theodore, forced to make camp immediately outside? Thomas didn’t seem inclined to care much about Theodore’s problems, spending his days pacing back and forth along the ship’s deck until he ran the risk of wearing tracks in the polished wood. On days when they were let out of their cell, that is.

The Count of Methengau still considered the twins likely to flee at the first opportunity, and frankly Will would be hard-pressed to deny it. He’d even gone so far as to propose rendezvous sites to Theo, if the three of them could only find their chances to break free from their captivities, but Theodore’s vows—the selfless sense of honour and duty that Will both hated and adored—was a far more solid prison than a cell could ever be.

And so Theodore watched over the rows of tents that had erupted like boils across the land outside of the ruins of Zara, while William and Thomas remained caged on Gregory’s command ship, and watched over him.

William lived for the evenings when Theodore managed to steal away from the camp. He would have a man row him over on one pretence or another, but then, once his meetings or inventories were done, he belonged to Will.

\--

They had begun it simply enough.

Thomas’ restlessness was well known, and it took little to convince their jailors that the twins could be let out of their captivity for a little while, to take a turn or two around the deck and breathe fresh air. Once Gregory had been persuaded that Thomas wasn’t going to dive overboard at the first chance, those walks got longer.

In those first few weeks after Zara (and William could now divide his understanding of the world into two time frames—before Zara, and after Zara), his anger at Theodore had still been too harsh, too raw. Oh, he’d forgiven him, officially, but the gnawing ache of betrayal and the wounds that had festered in his heart were harder to heal.

But one day, he had come up on deck for his allotted time in the sun, and Theodore had been there already. He braced his powerful arms on the rail, his eyes fastened on the distant horizon, the breeze teasing the ends of his golden hair so that it blew around his face. The winter wind was bitter, even here so far south, but he did nothing to pull his great cloak closer around himself. It fluttered instead, a dark cloud around his still and silent form.

There was nothing about his pose to suggest weakness to the casual observer, but there was something out of place in the set of his jaw, in the unfocussed way he stared out at the sea, and the blank expression on his face. The sour ache that had been sitting low in Will’s gut since Venice faded, replaced with a jolt of longing so strong and so potent that for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Will stood there, watching. He thought he had been silent, but Theodore turned and looked at him, and pain was written in all the lines of his face. It was the same expression that Will had first seen in the prison hold after the siege, when Theo had come stumbling back to him, caked with dirt and his hands smeared with blood.

How could he hold on to resentment or anger when his love was coming apart at the seams? The pain abandoned him in a rush, leaving space for compassion he never knew he had. His next move was impulsive, reckless and wild, fitting with the fire rushing through his blood. He held Theodore’s gaze as long as he could, turned back to the ladder that led down into the hold, and began to climb down into the darkness.

The rule had been, stay on deck until the guards came to bring him back to his cell. This time, he had no intention of waiting. His feet hit the wooden floor of the hold and the noise seemed to echo. The guards would be after him in no time; Gregory had no love for the twins, and it showed.

The light above was blotted out, the backlit form of a man standing above the hatch. Theodore. Will moved away from the base of the ladder, and Theo followed him down. Will turned to head for his cell—Thomas would be above decks for a while yet, and the guards would never expect to find William in his own prison—but Theo put his finger against his own lips and gestured him to follow in another direction.

The door to the grain stores room was bolted, but Theo had the key. He slipped inside, left the door open. Will followed. The moment he was inside Theo closed and locked the door behind him, and then he was on Will, pressing him up against the wall, his mouth harsh against Will’s like he’d been starving.

Will’s head hit the wooden post, the dry dusty smell of the grain in the barrels assaulted his nose, but he didn’t care. Theo was in his arms, his short beard still rough and prickly against Will’s fingers and the palms of his hands. His mouth was heat and fire, moving relentlessly over Will’s, his tongue tasting Will’s lips, his knee pressed hard between Will’s thighs enough to almost lift him off his feet.

What could he do but kiss back, kiss back as desperately as Theo kissed him, wind his arm around Theo’s neck and hold on? It hadn’t taken long before Will’s body burned with need, riding hard against Theo’s thigh. Will gasped, pressure coiling low in his spine, months of self-denial and separation exploding in his brain like cannonfire.

Theo had been hard against his hip, his soft moans shooting like arrows straight to Will’s prick. He’d moved entirely on instinct, sliding his hand between their bodies. He pushed up Theo’s knee-length tunic, ran his hand up Theo’s wool-covered thigh, his muscles straining beneath his hose. He found the gap at the top without needing to look, the ring of bared skin where Theo’s hose met his braes,  hot flesh with its fine dusting of hair, soft and rough beneath his fingertips at the same time.

He pushed aside the loose folded linen of Theo’s braes as cool air hit his own knees, Theo’s hands at work between the layers of Will’s clothing. There, oh there—Theo’s prick, hard and hot, and fitting so perfectly into Will’s hand. He gripped Theo tight as Theo’s broad, strong hand closed around Will’s, his thigh still between Will’s legs, their mouths locked together and breath shuddering together.

They had rutted there, standing against the pole, their fingers woven through each other’s and pricks pressed together. Slick with pre-come, Will had pushed up into the circle of their fingers, ridden against the long, sleek, solid strength of Theo’s prick. Over and over again he’d thrust, Theo right there, right beside him, around him and with him, until first Theo shuddered, muffled his cries in Will’s shoulder, and released. So hot, so wet, their hands moving faster now and faster—Will joined him, pleasure burning through his limbs, lightning that sizzled along his skin from spine to fingers and toes, then erupted in a blaze of sparks behind Will’s eyes.

And then, when it had all been over, looking up and catching the awe and wonder in Theo’s brilliant blue eyes. They’d not said any of the things they probably should have said, just held each other in silence for as long as they dared, before footsteps and shouting above meant that William had been missed.

He had made it back to his cell in time that day, time enough for the guards to find him carefully writing with the quill and ink he had been allowed, squinting up at the light as though they had disturbed _him._

And still his body had thrummed with the ripples of pleasure Theo had wrung from him, his scent still hot in Will’s nose and his back scraped raw. Thomas had given him a look of pure disgust when he was returned to their prison, but kept his complaints and insults out of the earshot of the guards.

It was the first time, but had not been anywhere close to the last.

They met by moonlight and by daylight, any time Theo could find his way onto the warship, for inventories or for strategy sessions with the other commanders that lasted until _vigils_ , the stars and moon shining bright overhead. The granary was the easiest place; Theo had the key.

Sometimes all they did was talk, kissing gently and tenderly between words, letting their hands roam, but generating no heat. Most of the time, though, Theo would come in angry and frustrated, his fury up thanks to Gregory’s stubbornness, his refusal to see things Theo’s way. Then Will would kiss him and bite at his lips, sink to his knees and suck Theo down so fiercely that his knees would buckle, or fuck between his thighs until Theo forgot everything but the sweat and friction’s devastating heat.

The winter passed too slowly, the hours crawling by with little to distinguish one from the other. They had more freedom by the early days of spring, allowed to move around the ship as they pleased, but still not allowed to leave. The shore was so close, only a few minutes away in the longboat that sat upon the ship’s foredeck until it was called upon for use. But it might as well have been the moon, for all the good it did either of the twins.

Only Theo was a respite, Theo’s company and his touch, his kisses and his determination.

\--

“Gregory will not listen,” Theo said finally, as the waves rocked the ship like a cradle and the land beyond the waves glowed with the new green of growing things.

“I could have told you that-“ Will began easily, but something new in Theo’s eyes made him fall silent.

“We’re going to be sailing soon,” Theo said, in what sounded like a change of subject. “Bringing on supplies and moving the men back onto the ships. We don’t have much time left to keep on as we have been.”

There was more there that he wasn’t saying. Will narrowed his eyes. “You have a plan in mind, I take it?”

“Maybe.” Theo frowned, leaning back against the rail and folding his arms across his chest. Will stayed where he was, his forearms resting on the polished wood and the waves lapping gently at the hull below.

“The fleet will sail for Corfu first, to rendezvous with the Doge and Prince Alexios. I don’t know what the next step will be, but it’s being said that we divert to Constantinople from there. Alexios wants his father’s throne, and we’re being used as pawns to claim it.” He shook his head, something bright glinting in the corners of his eyes before he blinked and it was gone.

“This is _not_ why we took the cross, not why I pledged to follow the call to crusade. We were supposed to sail straight to Egypt, where our swords were needed. Instead we’re pawns in a game that pits us against our brothers. None of this is right, or just.”

There were too many people on deck, not close enough to hear Theo speak, but they would surely sound the hue and cry if Will followed his impulse and put his arms around Theo’s shoulders, kissed his fears away.

But Theo kept talking. “I’ll travel on this ship with you, I’ve managed to arrange that, at least. But I don’t know that there will be any chance to disembark at either of those cities. For me, perhaps, but not for you and Tom.”

The thrill seared along Will’s skin when he understood. “You mean to leave.” _Finally._

Theo looked down, his eyes shadowed, and studied the fabric of his sleeve. “Only if you will come with me. You, Tom, Arnauld will follow where I lead. As far as I’m concerned, my vows were broken when our venture turned into a slaughter. If God wants to take me to task for breaking my oaths of fealty, He can judge me for that. But I’ll die with my conscience clear on that score.”

Will grabbed for Theo’s hand, not thinking, but managed to get a squeeze back before he dropped hands almost as rapidly. “When?”

“It will depend if the boats drop and men go ashore at Corfu.” Soldiers paced by them and Theo fell silent, continuing to speak only after they were out of earshot. “And if I can find some reason to bring the three of you along. But Gregory is suspicious by nature, and it may not be easy. I can offer him Thomas as a scout if you stay as a hostage, bring Arnauld as my squire, but you’re a different story. I may not be able to get both of you off the ship at the same time.”

Will arched an eyebrow, a ridiculous, dangerous idea beginning to form in his mind. “Then you worry about them. I’ve been able to do more than just heal, this past year. Maybe I can find a way on my own.”

Theo recoiled, shaking his head. “Pretty blue lights are one thing Will; forging a weapon or a way off the boat with will’o’the wisps is something entirely different.”

Will could only shrug. “You’re willing to risk your immortal soul, my Dragon.” Theo smiled at the endearment, his face lighting up like the sun itself. “I’ll risk testing my own limits as well. If my miracles are from God, then maybe, just maybe, He has some kind of plan already in mind.”

That was when Gregory came back on deck and Theo pulled away, his smile dimming and dying as he returned to his liege-lord’s side.

And William had a lot of thinking to do.

\--

Of course, because the world hated William and all his plans, drawing upon his so-called ‘miracles’ was not nearly as easy as he’d proclaimed it would be. Healing was the one thing he’d been able to do, and even that was touchy at best, one day working, the next as out of reach as the stars. The lights, those were show tricks, born of frustration over the long winter.

Now William lay on the flat straw tick mattress that was all he had to serve for a bed in the ship’s hold, and he stared up at the planks that formed the deck above him. The ship rocked with the swells of the open sea, one long ride up and then the swift plunge down that marked a restless ocean. Thomas paced his circles, first one way, then the other, before flopping down on his own bed with a dramatic rush of air.

Sparks tingled at William’s fingertips and he sank into the rising tide of blue. _Transport me, carry me away—_

But the whirling, tingling taste of power slipped away like water from between his fingers. He lunged for it, closed his eyes and tried to grab for it, the sparks flickering always, always just out of reach.

The ship rocked violently, the splash of waves against the hull deepening, thundering through the creaking wood. Voices raised above them, muffled through the wood of the deck: “storm!” “loosen the sheets” and “drop the sails” echoing as though in a dream.

_Think of Theodore. Of how much he needs this part of the plan to work._

It almost helped. Power filled him, drawn in on his breath, but the moment he tried to reach for it rather than let it fill him—it swept him up, a maelstrom of energy that burned through his body.

Everything was against him. Nothing had gone right since the moment he and Thomas had left home, nothing except meeting the man he would love forever and never be able to have. It spun into a spiralling whirl of anger: Gregory, the crusade, the jagged, broken walls of Zara reaching up into the sky, the hot tang of blood and screams of the dying.

He could no longer feel the mattress below him, nor see the darkness of the room. It had _him_ , and would have – could have—

The door to the cell crashed open, the magic left William in a rush and he fell, the mattress too thin and sparse to do anything to break the sudden pain that shot up his hip and elbows, the points of impact.

“He’s doing this!” The guard at the door grabbed Will and hauled him to his feet, fingers closing tight around his upper arms.

Sparks flew. Will curled into a ball, the power surging, flashing, nothing in his eyes but white and the brightest edges of blue.

“William!” someone’s voice screamed his name.

Pain seared across the back of his head, full and red-tinged. The world went black.

\--

Ice slashed across William’s face, bitter cold. His shoulders ached, his head worse, his feet—he couldn’t feel his feet.

Something tall and hard sat against his back, rough ropes scraping at his wrists. The wind screamed around him, a banshee crying for another lost soul.

He opened his eyes.

He was still on the ship, the ship was still at sea, the sea still raged with the fury of an angry god.

His hands were bound behind him, a rope around his waist lashing him to the mast. The ship rose up at the prow and crashed down the side of the next wave, water flying up in sheets and drowning the rail, the salt sea spreading across the deck to lick hungrily at William’s feet.

And he wasn’t alone. Gregory and his men stood only a few feet away, Theodore and his sword a barrier between them and William.

“He’s a God-be-damned _Jonah_ ,” the ship’s captain shouted to be heard over the howl of the wind. “That maggot-ridden son of a misbegotten goat is a devil’s servant and he’ll drown us all!”

“Throw him overboard and soothe the sea!” another voice joined the chorus, then another.

“Feed him to the deep and save our souls!”

“And what would he gain by sinking the ship he’s a prisoner on?” Theo’s voice rang out, strong and sure. Where was Thomas? Was he hurt? William would know if his twin were injured, wouldn’t he? He tried to reach for his power; not a single blue spark danced to his attention. “If anyone is at fault here it’s yours, my _Lord_. They made to leave us in Venice and _you_ had him taken captive.”

The wind whipped up and the ship plunged down into the trough of another wave, water thundering down over the prow once more. The bitter ocean waves bit at William’s ankles, any sign of spring’s warmth long since gone. Whatever Gregory had said was lost, snatched away by the screaming winds.

“Let me go to him,” Theodore begged, his sword still up and his body still a bulwark against the horde, against the storm. “I will fix this.”

Will rolled his hands against the bonds, twisted and turned his wrists in desperation. Liquid ran hot down his fingers, but there was no pain; only the chilling teeth of the cold and the storm. In two bounds Theo was standing before him on the deck, sheathing his great sword in the scabbard at his hip. The ship tilted and tipped, the great sail flapping and sheets flying, whips caught in the wind that could cut a man to shreds. Sailors scrambled for them, hauling on the lines in a desperate attempt to keep the ship upright against the weather’s fury.

Something hot coursed down Will’s cheeks as well; not blood? Tears, perhaps, because this was not how things were supposed to end.

“Will,” Theo urged, and his hands cupped William’s chin. His thumb scraped down along Will’s cheekbone, the line of his jaw, scudded gently, so gently, across his bottom lip. Will closed his mouth and tasted blood, the iron pang of blood and the painful sting of salt. “Will, listen to me. Focus on me. Listen to my voice.”

He was a harbor, an anchor to cling to as the world spun, the grey sea meeting the black sky and everything thundering down around them both. “Look at me, only at me.” His eyes were blue, so blue, the blue of magic and of peace, of sunlit spring days and tiny flowers growing beneath the hedge at home.

_I want-_

“Don’t try and speak, just focus on me. Think of quiet,” Theo urged. “Think of you and I, sitting in our home after all this is gone and over. We will have a small stone hearth and a little warm fire, wool blankets across our laps. There will be mulled wine in our cups and fresh bread on our plates. I can smell it now, feel the warmth of the fire, and the cold of your feet in my lap.”

Tears were in those blue eyes now, and that should never be.

_I want-_

“You will have a room full of books,” Theo kept talking, and he could have been crying, but there was no way to know, his face, hair, wide, cautious hands, soaked through with rain and salt spray. “And a stable for of horses out the back. On sunny days we will go riding, you and I, and lay ourselves down in the green meadow.”

His hands shifted, both gripping William’s face, his body up against Will’s, his voice rough and broken. “Be calm, my love. Be calm. Let it come.”

There, as the fury and rage ebbed, the images that Theo wove so real so vivid behind Will’s eyes that he could reach out and _be_ there. “The birds singing in the orchard,” Will croaked out, his mouth dry despite the water, salt turning his tongue to fire.

Theo was crying now, and he nodded, water sheeting down his face and drops spinning from his hair with the movement. The ship crashed down again and a man screamed. “And a cat to chase the mice from the kitchen. But she will be fat and satisfied, and spend her days curled on your knees instead, batting at the end of your quill.”

The rain on Will’s face was hot, the same heat dripping from the ends of his fingers. Theo’s eyes were perfect blue, magic’s blue, and Will fell into them. He fell into the power, and it surged inside him taking the place the anger left empty.

“I want-“ Will said.

“Focus on it,” Theo urged. “I want the sea to be calm.”

“I want the sea-“ Will’s voice caught, he couldn’t speak, his bloodied lips cracked and useless. Theo leaned in, their faces hidden by the wall of water and the wood of the mast, and kissed him. His mouth, his tears, they dampened Will’s enough to let him speak.

“I want the sea to calm.” Will said. The power surged inside him, but did not obey.

“I want the storm to end,” Theo urged him. “I’m here, Will. I’m here.”

He was there.

_Iwantthestormtoend Iwantthestormtoend_

_IwantthestormtoendIwantthestormtoend_

_I want the sea to be calm._

Blue filled him, the colour of Theo’s eyes. It surged and burst forth, William nothing but its messenger, the portal through which miracles were worked. Blue circles and spirals flooded the world, echoes and ripples pushing off of him like water around a thrown stone.

The driving rain turned to a spatter, then a mist, and then was gone. The waves settled from mountains of white-capped water to rolling country hills, to ripples that lapped gently against the ship’s hull.

In the distance, other sails winked back, white in the light of the sun, no longer hidden by clouds as black as night. The rest of the convoy.

The sun broke through and the sea was a friend again.

“There now,” Theo said, but his face was wet, water sluicing off his cloak and tunic to puddle on the deck around his feet. “I knew you could do it.” And he didn’t remove his hands.

“Thanks to you,” William muttered, his breath hitching and his eyes closed, his head resting back against the security of the broad oaken mast.

“You’ve always had that power in you.”

Then Theo’s hands were gone, no longer bracing and anchoring, keeping Will from giving up and letting the pain and cold take him.

“Release this man.” Hands fumbled behind Will, his ropes pulled away and ripping more skin with them. His legs numb and his hands screaming in pain, his head throbbing, Will tried to take a step. He canted forward, toppled, fell. Theo’s arms came around him then, and he knew that he would be safe.

“Thomas?” Will asked, the other word he could force out between his lips, even as darkness ate at the edges of his vision.

“Fine,” Theo assured him, and that was good. If Tom was fine, then Will could sleep. “He’s untouched.”

Very good then.

“I’m taking him to my cabin,” Theo commanded, and there was power in his voice and strength in his arms that Will needed to remember; this was new and important. Theo’s chest was broad and strong, and warm even through the sodden clothes. He was being carried, then, and found he didn’t care.

“Once you’ve tended to his _wounds_ , oh nursemaid,” Gregory’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and furious, “leave him to sleep. The longer he stays out, the safer we’ll all be. Away, all of you gawkers!” the command cracked out like the end of a whip. “Make ready. Tomorrow we will be in sight of Chalcedon.”

 


End file.
